Don't They Know I Know Kung Fu?

Through the pattering downpour, a black car pulled up outside the building that had once been the Japanese guild hall. Opening the car door, Liu Ren stepped out with an umbrella in hand. His gaze drifted casually into the distance, a scornful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ren? Something's off!" A Chao stepped up beside him, his expression turning grim in an instant. Raising an easy hand, Liu Ren said quietly, "Nothing major. Don't panic." "Korose!" A fierce, chilling roar echoed through the rain. From the surrounding alleys burst more than a dozen Japanese thugs brandishing swords and knives. Taking in their vicious scowls, Liu Ren let his smirk broaden. "Don't they know I know kung fu?" With that, he passed the umbrella back to A Chao, turned around, and strode forward. As a cold blade slashed through the sheets of rain toward him, Liu Ren slipped to the side and drove a brutal punch straight into the man's chest. Crack! The heavy blow caved the man's ribcage in instantly. Coughing up a thick spray of blood, the thug collapsed to his knees, eyes going completely vacant. Felling the man in one strike, Liu Ren deflected an incoming saber with a backhand, brought four fingers tightly together, and drove them straight through another attacker's throat. With a wet crunch, his hardened fingertips pierced the windpipe. Liu Ren swept his right hand aside, heedless of the blood splattering across his face. Seeing him dispatch two men so effortlessly, several of the attackers felt a prickle of terror. Liu Ren, however, calmly straightened his suit jacket with both hands and flashed a bright smile. "Come on!" "Kill!" Roaring again, the dozen-odd men charged from both sides. Watching their cornered-beast frenzy, Liu Ren drew two axes from behind his back, his wrists twirling them in fluid arcs. The moment both sides clashed again, the misty rain bloomed crimson. Swinging his axes in vicious chops, Liu Ren's grin grew wilder. "Want to kill me? Who the hell do you think you are? I'm Liu Ren! Ahahaha!" A backhand stroke buried an axe blade into a Japanese thug's shoulder blade. Liu Ren surged forward relentlessly, driving the man backward like a battering ram. Thud! He kicked his meat shield away, his left-hand axe hacking down with savage fury. As the surviving thugs shrank back, terrified by his sheer brutality, a crowd of men suddenly flooded out from the surrounding streets, brandishing broadswords as they charged into the fray. When the ruthless slaughter finally ended, Liu Ren stepped up to the last man left alive. Reaching down, he pushed aside a strand of hair clinging to the man's forehead. "Who sent you?" "We... we will never let you get away with this!" Glaring up at Liu Ren with what little breath he had left, the man snarled with desperate defiance. Upon hearing that, Liu Ren gave a radiant smile and tapped the man's chest. "I like tough guys." Turning on his heel, Liu Ren raised an eyebrow and added, "Mince this one extra fine." Straightening his suit, he walked toward the guild hall without looking back. Hearing the order, several of his men stood dumbfounded. "Mince him? For real?" "Brother Ren said it, so what else are we gonna do? Just find a slaughterhouse later! It's way easier with a machine!" Clouting the younger man across the back of the head, the older thug shrugged. After all, as a rising, ambitious newcomer in He'an, Liu Ren treated his own brothers with utmost benevolence and righteousness. Chopping up an enemy extra fine was hardly a big deal—they could dice him into meat paste for all it mattered! "We all trained under Head Coach Han. How come you're the one who learned real kung fu?" A Chao stared at Liu Ren, his face etched with utter shock. Back in the day, Head Coach Han had used nothing but his bare fists to beat the taller, huskier Irishmen so badly that they hadn't dared set foot in Chinatown for years. But now, Liu Ren was even more ferocious than Coach Han had been in his prime. It was mind-boggling. Liu Ren smiled. "Brother Chao, stop joking. I just have a little more strength, that's all." "You killed a guy with a single punch, and you tell me you're just 'a little stronger'?" A Chao's head was buzzing. How could he possibly buy that? "Oh, right. Uncle Qing told me to give this to you." Tossing a ledger onto the table, A Chao sighed. "He'an doesn't have that many men to spare, so this is all the backing he can give you." Flipping open the roster, Liu Ren understood that this had to be the official Haidi register. Traditional outer associates weren't permitted on it; only those listed here were considered true members of He'an. "Wait, does that mean I'm a Red Pole now?" Liu Ren froze for a moment, realizing he had practically become an enforcer. On second thought, he chuckled. Here in New York, wasn't he essentially the people's Red Pole anyway? Looking at the list of barely a hundred names, Liu Ren felt a headache coming on. Though it looked like a decent number on paper, fewer than twenty were young men who could actually fight. Liu Ren could hardly drag those elderly veterans out to risk their lives on the front line. "A long way to go and a heavy burden to bear," he murmured, tapping his fingers against the desk. He found the motion rather relaxing; no wonder Uncle Qing liked drumming on tables all the time. As his fingers kept up their rhythm, Liu Ren turned to ask, "Have we figured out Judah Cohen's situation? Where does he live?" "You aren't planning to start a war tonight, are you?" A Chao stared in disbelief, completely dumbfounded. "Otherwise what? Am I supposed to show up at his door tomorrow with a gift basket and announce that I'm going to wipe out his whole family?" Liu Ren spread his hands with a look of mock helplessness. Who the hell did business like that? If you were going to take out an entire household, you didn't drop by to give them advance notice. Did they think they were the Mafia, sending a Black Hand letter before paying a visit? That tradition only came later anyway—the real Mafia just silently sprayed you down with submachine guns! If you were going to preach benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and moral virtue in this line of work, why the hell not just run for mayor? Feeling the sting of Liu Ren's disdainful glance, A Chao coughed awkwardly. "I checked. It's confirmed. But he's always surrounded by a ton of bodyguards. Making a move will cause a massive stir!" "You think I'm afraid of a stir? Did you forget I used to shovel coal? When a boiler blew back then, it took out everything within dozens of yards, man and beast alike!" Liu Ren slapped the table, lit a cigarette, and blew out a thick plume of smoke. "I'm putting him in the dirt tonight!" A Chao looked at him in shock. "Just you?" "I have a crew of Slavs under me. They can handle anything for me." Liu Ren answered nonchalantly, though inside he felt a twinge of a headache. He was going to have to deal with that bad-tempered Orc Lad again. What a hassle. Orc Lad: Humie, I reckon burnin' bridges like dis ain't right! Liu Ren: As long as it works, what more do you want, a bicycle?! *** Under the cover of night, Sergeant James and Liu Ren stood in a dim, secluded corner. Cloaked in the shadows where the lamplight couldn't reach, the two were wrapping up a brief transaction. Fingering the thick pouch of cash, James said, his eyes glittering, "I'll handle our friends in Brooklyn for you. But from now on, Cohen's tribute has to come in on time!" Liu Ren didn't argue. He simply smiled. "Of course." In New York, any problem that money could solve wasn't a problem at all; only the troubles money couldn't fix truly counted. James and his department might take a cut, but Liu Ren was hardly at a loss—after all, even the port was something he had "borrowed" from someone else!